


Nursing Her Wrath To Keep It Warm

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Grief, sibling relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 05:02:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2216742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the horrors of the Helcaraxë and the battle of the Lammoth, Fingolfin must struggle to recall the mindset with which he set out on the journey from Aman. Luckily his sister is there to help him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nursing Her Wrath To Keep It Warm

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Robert Burns' poem Tam o'Shanter. Taken completely out of context, of course, but I love that line a lot and I think it's fairly appropriate here.

“Ñolofinwë?”

He raised his head wearily at the sound of the gentle tapping on the doorpost of the tent. “Yes?”

His sister’s face appeared at the tent flap, and he sighed. “Lalwendë. Come in.”

She sat down beside him on the pile of furs and gave him an appraising look before she spoke. “Are you alright?” she said at last.

He scowled, running a hand through his hair. “What do  _you_  think?”

She sighed. “I know, I’m sorry I - ”

“No” he interrupted, taking off his gloves and twisting his chapped fingers together apologetically, looking her in the eye at last. “ _I’m_  sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“You just buried your youngest son” she said quietly. “You have reason to be a little…” she trailed off, gesturing at him.

“No, you’re right of course.” He raked a hand through his hair once more, shaking it out of its long, loose braid. “How are the others?"

“Finno is pacing. Ingoldo and his brothers have tried to talk to him, but he barely replies at all.” She looked at Ñolofinwë with concern. “Turukáno and Irissë are putting Itarillë to bed. Artanis has gone out amongst the people, to talk to them. Reassure them, I suppose. That girl can be wonderfully cool-headed.”

“Yes” said Ñolofinwë distractedly. “I should go out and speak before the people too.”

“Perhaps” admitted Lalwendë. “But first…” she took his hands in her own, turning them so that the palms were upwards. “Ñolvo” she traced a finger along the tiny crescent moon bruises in the soft flesh of his palms where he had dug his fingernails in, “first talk to me. It might help.”

“I…” he looked at her for a moment, then took a deep breath, before pulling her into his arms, burying his face in her fur collar and squeezing his eyes closed as he held her tightly. “Lalwendë” he heard himself saying, the breath hitching in his chest, as he tried to bite back tears. She held him close, muttering soothing words into his hair, but he pulled back, bunching his hands together in front of him. “After we left the Ice behind, I thought… I thought we would be safe. I thought I could keep them safe, and then my own  _son_ …”

“Shh. I know. I know.”

“No!” he felt his voice rising, anger boiling up inside him suddenly. “No you don’t know.” Immediately he felt hollow inside. “Oh Lalwendë, I didn’t mean to shout… it’s just… what sort of a king am I? Sometimes I wonder why I am doing this. All of it. Once I would have said for my  _people_ ” he shook his head, “but I cannot honestly say the journey has brought anything but death and pain. And then I would have said that I’m doing it because I swore I would never turn back, but how does that make me any better than” – his face crumpled – “than  _him_?”

“Ñolofinwë, don’t say that. You’re not Fëanáro. You  _are_  better than he is.”

“Am I though? Am I really? Am I not just another rash and reckless king on a doomed quest for revenge, letting my people die for me in - ”

“Ñolvo.” She turned his face so that he was looking at her. “Stop. Don’t talk like that. Remember why we left. What you felt then.”

“Things are different now.”

“Are they? Think about Fëanáro. Are they different for him? What about for Moringotto?”

“Lalwendë - ”

“Do you know why I came with you Ñolvo? Even though Amil hated the idea? I could have stayed with her, and with Findis and Arafinwë, helped our little brother rule in Tirion.” She scoffed. “I came because I wanted what you wanted, to see Atar avenged, to follow you, to stand alongside you. And on the Ice, do you think my wrath at Fëanáro burned any less brightly than yours, that it did not keep me warm at night? Do you think I did not let it keep me alive?”

“Wrath will not be enough to - ”

“And do you think that our people, the ones who gladly call you their king, do you think they do not burn quite as hot with the need to see justice done, and to be free of the trammels that bound us before? You forced no one to come with you. You made the best possible decision in the circumstances, knowing what you knew. The  _only_  possible decision.”

Ñolofinwë frowned, and was silent for a moment. “Arakáno should have stayed behind with Anairë, at least” he said haltingly at last.

“He would never have agreed to it.”

“That’s probably true.” He stared at his hands once more. “I just keep wondering… will it end? I mean… what if we are never safe? What if Moringotto… what if he wins? And when we fight, what will be the cost? It could be me next to die, or you. After Elenwë… and now Arakáno, and so many others… so many sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, husbands and wives. You can’t tell me you never speculated on who would be next, and coming to the end of the Ice did not mean the end of the deaths. If anything it’s only the beginning.” He sighed. “I’m worried about Findekáno, too. You saw how he was today. I can’t help thinking he’s going to do something stupid, throw his life away, and Námo would have no mercy to spare for him, not after what he did…” he felt his chest tighten at the thought. “I’m worried about all our people, Lalwendë. Every one. What sort of king cannot protect his own?”

“One who is at war” said Lalwendë. “Besides, I’m more worried about  _you_ doing something stupid and throwing your life away than I am about Findekáno.”

“I will never leave you, Lalwendë” he said, staring into her face seriously. “I hope you know that.”

She sighed, her hesitation almost imperceptible. “Yes, Ñolvo. Of course I do.”


End file.
